Perfectly Splendid
by Lala Kate
Summary: AU S2. A wounded Matthew has an interesting discussion with another officer about Mary and Lavinia.
1. Chapter 1

_This is the result of an amazing prompt submitted to me on tumblr I shall share at the end of the story. I have had many requests to continue this saga, and it is something I am considering, although I don't want another long story to juggle at the moment. :) I do hope you enjoy! For darkblueyank. :)_

_Own nothing...love it all._

* * *

"Good afternoon, Captain Crawley."

His companion turns towards him slowly, his obvious distaste for the chair to which he is confined palpable.

"Good afternoon."

Crawley's response is half-hearted, his gaze only fleeting before he casts it back out the window.

"Will your fiancé be visiting today?"

"Ms. Swire?" Matthew questions automatically. "Yes—I believe she plans to do so."

"She is a lovely person, so gracious and kind to all of the wounded men. You're a lucky man, Captain."

"Yes, I am," Matthew responds, hanging his head. "Luckier than I deserve to be."

"Because of your injury, you mean?" he questions gently. "You served your country with honor and were wounded as a result of an act of bravery. If your circumstances do not matter to Ms. Swire, why should you allow them make you feel unworthy of her affections?"

A mirthless chuckle quickly morphs into a sigh.

"What can I offer her in return?" Matthew retorts. "A life of service to a man who can never be a true husband to her? She deserves better than that."

"Perhaps your unending love and devotion would be sufficient?" he suggests with a shrug. "Unless those are reserved for someone else."

Blue eyes fasten upon him for moment too long.

"Just what are you implying, Commander?"

"Merely that Lady Mary seems to occupy a lot of your time."

He sits up taller in his chair.

"Lady Mary is very kind," Matthew attempts, unable to look his companion in the eye.

"Please, Captain," he nearly laughs. "It's obvious to anyone who observes the two of you together that she is in love with you."

Crawley's gaze widens in disbelief just before he reverts it back to the outdoors.

"The question is do you feel the same way about her?"

"Lady Mary is my cousin," Matthew returns, clearing his throat. "And a dear friend. There is nothing more than that between us, nothing more at all."

"Are you quite certain?" he questions, needing to know.

"Yes. I am quite certain," Matthew affirms, the slight quiver in his tone betraying his lie.

"So you would have no objections if another man expressed an interest in her?" he presses on, stepping in a bit closer. "Someone who finds her maddeningly engaging and perfectly splendid?"

His swallow is audible, his expression conflicted.

"Why would I object? All I want for Lady Mary is for her to be happy."

He nods with a new determination, rubbing the rough stump where his lower arm used to be.

"I'm glad to hear it," he nods, wincing at his loss.

"I take it the man of whom we are speaking is you, Commander," Matthew states, looking at him directly. "That you are the man who finds Lady Mary so engaging. Tell me, what do you have to offer her?"

"I'm not certain that is any of your business, Captain," he tosses back. "Seeing how you are engaged to Ms. Swire and merely a friend to Lady Mary."

He sighs into the space between them.

"Lady Mary will always be my business, Commander. Make no mistake about that. Besides, I'm not certain it was within your right to question my feelings for her or my fiancé, for that matter."

Eyes lock firmly, engaging in a silent skirmish.

"Point taken," he returns with a smile. "But let me assure you my intentions towards Lady Mary are honorable, Captain Crawley, that I ask for nothing more than a chance with her."

He hears footsteps approaching from behind and watches as all color bleeds from Crawley's face.

"There you are, Matthew," Ms. Swire smiles, leaning down to kiss her fiancée on the cheek. "I was wondering where you'd gotten to."

He studies the other woman standing beside him closely, the slight twitch under her eyelids she quickly pushes down, the nervous reaction of her hands that clasp together firmly before she faces him head-on.

"And I'm here for you, Commander," Mary puts in, the depths of her voice drawing both his and Crawley's attention. "Unfortunately, it's time for your riding lesson."

"Unfortunate for you, perhaps, but quite fortunate for me," he tosses back, enjoying the small smirk she cannot resist granting him.

"Try not to fall off your mount today," she quips, making him laugh as two pairs of eyes rounded in shock stare back at them.

"I'm sure the commander does a fine job of riding, considering his injury," Ms. Swire returns shakily, clearly unnerved by Mary's blatant observation of the man's loss.

"Don't encourage him," Mary fires back. "You have no idea how difficult a pupil he can be."

"Lady Mary has actually threatened to give me a hook and an eye patch to reveal my true nature," he grins, watching Captain Crawley shift uneasily in his chair. "She contends that seamen don't adapt well to land."

"I have come to believe the Royal Navy actively recruits pirates and dresses them up as officers," Mary explains, catching her breath as her smile becomes forced.

"Once a pirate, always a pirate?" Matthew questions, narrowing his eyes in the other man's direction.

"Something like that," she replies, a nearly imperceptible flush splashing across her cheeks.

She stares at her cousin a moment too long before finally training her direct gaze upon him, a gaze he is certain the other man feels as strongly as he.

"Shall we, Commander Blake?"

"I'm all yours, Lady Mary," he responds, feeling another man's eyes boring into his back as they make their way towards the stables.

* * *

_Prompt: Matthew and Charles Blake: Questioning _


	2. Chapter 2

_This tale will be written in snippets such as these, revolving around conversations. I have been overwhelmed by the support this has received both here and on tumblr, and I hope you enjoy this installment. _

_Own nothing. Love it all.  
_

* * *

She moves to the space beside him, head held high, spine a bit too straight for his liking. He admires how unaffected she appears, how serene she remains under what has to be a terribly uncomfortable situation.

Of course, he notices small details others would miss, the slight strain under her eyes, the needless movement of her hands, the manner in which she swallows more than usual. He studies her details far more than he should, knowing this one-sided infatuation could lead to his own undoing.

How Captain Crawley can turn a blind eye to the love she clearly feels for him is beyond his comprehension.

Yet he refuses to accept defeat before even putting up a fight. Mary Crawley is a woman worth everything, regardless of the talk now circulating concerning her reputation. Her mere presence lightens his spirit, and he appreciates the fact she treats him like a man, not an invalid, that she doesn't shy away from being frank in her instruction or remarks, that she doesn't even bat an eye at the stump which used to bear a hand.

He'd like to strangle whatever newspaper man decided to publish that damned story. On second thought, perhaps strangling would be too good for the bastard.

"Lady Mary. It's good to see you. I missed your company yesterday."

She offers him a small smile, one that barely reaches her cheeks as she takes a seat next to him.

"Thank you, Commander," she returns. "I apologize for having to cancel our riding lesson."

"There's no need," he insists, turning to face her fully. "Those sessions are a bright spot in my day, but you are most certainly under no obligation to assist me in such a manner."

"I enjoy them, as well," she admits quietly. "Perhaps we can extend tomorrow's session to make up for yesterday's loss if the weather decides to cooperate."

Her eyes have yet to meet his. He aches at her uncertainty of his reaction.

"Remind me to eat all of my breakfast tomorrow," he grins. "To adequately fortify myself for the paces through which you will undoubtedly hurl me with glee."

Her gaze falls to her lap, to hands she clasps together in a death grip.

"But only if you're up to it," he presses on, noting her hesitation in engaging in their usual banter. "I'm certain the past two days cannot have been easy for you."

She then looks at him directly, her face unreadable and devoid of color.

"No," she finally confesses, watching him closely. "But I've endured worse."

His admiration of her rises tenfold.

"Spoken like a true survivor."

She makes a noise he cannot quite decipher.

"I'm not certain I deserve such a title," she argues. "It is far more fitting for you and the other men recuperating here at Downton."

"A battle is a battle, Lady Mary," he insists. "Whether it is fought with guns or petty accusations published for public consumption." Her shoulders sag as a measure of starch washes out of her. "The intent is the same, no matter the weapon—to maim and to wound."

"And if the accusations are true?"

Eyes fasten together, waiting to see who will flinch first.

"They're still no one's business but your own," he ascertains with a shrug. "Your past is simply that—your past. And anyone who claims they have nothing to hide in their own is lying."

She grins reluctantly, and it hits him harder than it should.

"Oh, really, Commander Blake?"

"Really, Lady Mary," he assures with a smile. "You simply bear the distinction of being a woman and an earl's daughter, at that. Had you been born to lower class or been a man, no one would even bother to read such filth. Of course, had you been born male, I doubt I would enjoy our riding lessons as much as I do."

Something shifts in her expression, a new understanding taking root she isn't quite sure how to handle.

"Had I been born male, I might shove you from your horse."

He laughs and she joins him, a flash of liveliness in her eyes warming his insides.

"Had you been male, I wouldn't laugh at that remark, I assure you."

She stares at him in a new light, making him shift in his chair.

"Thank you," she states just under her breath.

"For?"

"For treating me the same way you did two days ago."

Gazes lock again, and he physically restrains himself from gathering her into his arms.

"Why wouldn't I?" he asks matter-of-factly. "You haven't undergone some sort of metamorphosis to my knowledge."

Eyes so brown they make him ache bore in far too deep.

"You know what I mean, Commander," she tosses back without blinking. "You're not the only one who appreciates frankness."

He draws a fortifying breath.

"Lady Mary, one of the things I like most about you is the fact that you don't handle me with kid gloves simply because I've lost a hand. You treat me in the same manner I suspect you would have treated me before I sustained my injury. Am I correct?"

"You're injury makes you no less of a person, Commander."

"Neither does your past, Lady Mary."

He feels her silence brush across his thighs.

"Not everyone would agree with you."

Her lips look ashen as her eyes fall to her lap.

"Then they are idiots," he muses, capturing her gaze yet again. "Anyone who would judge you over so human a weakness is setting himself up for a mighty fall."

"And you commander," she continues. "Would you consider marriage to a woman of sullied virtue?"

"Is that a proposal, Lady Mary?" he grins, relishing the light chuckle he receives in return.

"You're impossible, you know," she retorts.

"My sisters would agree with you," he quips, unable to stop gazing at her smile. "But in all seriousness, if I loved a woman enough to marry her, I wouldn't let something as trivial as a past dalliance stand in my way."

She stares at him hard.

"Oh, really, Commander?"

It is asked playfully, but he senses raw insecurity just under the surface.

"Really, Lady Mary," he breathes, suddenly feeling far too much as her gaze flits to the doorway. "Captain Crawley, I take it?"

His inquiry makes her jump, and she collects her wits quickly, pasting on a practiced mask of aloofness.

"Why do you ask?"

His brow quirks a reply before his lips do.

"Your expression. It's obvious that you love him."

Her eyes take on the wariness of one trapped in her own corner.

"Did he already know?" he dares, reading the answer in the trembling of her lips.

"No," she whispers, hanging her head. "I was too afraid to tell him."

"Is that what came between the two of you?" he presses, imagined details filling in the gaps in his mind.

"Partly," she admits, seeing no need to deny anything. "Our past is complicated."

"Pasts usually are," he muses, feeling his ribs constrict as the next words make their way up his throat. "Have you spoken with him since it all came out?"

She sits immobile, closing her eyes as she shakes her head.

"You must, you know," he advises, wanting to smack himself for opening Pandora's Box. "You'll always wonder if you don't."

"And I thought you were flirting with me," she breathes, eyeing him in a confusion mixed with nerves.

"I am," he assures her. "Most decidedly. But I don't want to be the man you settle for simply because you couldn't have the man you wanted. I prefer to win you on my own."

She looks at him in a manner that makes him despair and hope simultaneously.

"Tomorrow. Noon. At the stables. And don't be late, Commander," she insists, collecting her pride around her as she stands. "I won't wait around forever."

"Then I'll be early," he asserts, standing along with her.

"You may be kept waiting," she remarks, tilting her head just so.

"I'll wait as long as it takes," he replies, catching the blush that splashes across her cheeks as her eyes attempt to decipher him. "As long as I know you'll arrive when you're ready."

"Tomorrow," she repeats, acknowledging his nod before she turns and moves away.

"It's a date," he quips, catching her half-glance over her shoulder as she carries his hopes to destinations unknown.


	3. Chapter 3

_MM: Angst or exhaustion_

_— groveyswife_

_So this prompt led me into this chapter which has been on my mind since I completed Chapter 2. Yes-it is angst-ridden. No-it is not the end of the story. There is more to come for all four of our characters, so I hope you'll stay along for the ride. _

_Hugs to all of my readers, and many thanks as always to Cls2011 and miscreant rose for their feedback and friendship. Own nothing. Love it all. Feedback welcome and most appreciated!_

* * *

He sits just in front of her, alone, staring out the window as he is prone to doing these days, face unmoving, jawline fixed. She should walk over to him immediately, sit down and speak with the same candor and openness with which she had just spoken with Commander Blake.

But this is different, and she knows it. This is Matthew.

And Matthew means everything.

She grips the doorframe until her knuckles are white, drawing in a steadying breath, silently counting to five before shoving herself into his line of fire.

She only hopes her thoughts of facing him are exaggerated. They may not be at all.

"I wondered if you'd come."

She stops mid-stride, gazing at his profile, at eyes that won't look at her, at shoulders rigid and squared.

"Did you?" she begins, folding her hands together. "That's odd, for I've had the distinct impression you've been avoiding me all day."

His gaze drops to his lap, his lips pressed in tight.

"And if I were?"

Her stomach falls to her knees.

"I couldn't blame you."

Blue eyes then look up, fixing upon her own with an intensity that makes her cold.

"God, Mary," he whispers, his expression beginning to crack. "Why didn't you tell me?"

Her starch flows out her spine in an instant, and she fights the urge to collapse to the floor in front of him.

"I should have, I know," she admits, moving a few steps further in his direction. "But I couldn't bring myself to do so. I was certain you'd despise me."

He turns away from her again, and she freezes in place.

"Do you, Matthew?"

They are the most difficult words she's ever uttered, and she holds her breath as they fall from her lips with the weight of iron.

"I don't know what to think, Mary."

For a fleeting moment, she wishes Commander Blake were standing by her side for support.

"Neither does Papa, I'm afraid," she confesses, her fingers beginning to fidget as she remembers her father's expression from this morning. "I know I'm a terrible disappointment to everyone."

"Oh, for God's sake, stop saying that," he shoots back in frustration, finally turning his chair to face her directly. "Can you just give me a reason? One reason, Mary. That's all I ask."

She stands dumbfounded, collecting her thoughts, shaking her head slightly.

"I'm not certain there is one, Matthew," she returns. "One that will satisfy you, that is."

"Was it love?" he continues as if she hadn't spoken. "Because if it were…"

"How could it be love?" she interrupts. "I hardly knew him."

"Then why?"

His question targets every moral impressed upon her during her formative years.

"It just happened, Matthew."

The air shimmers in a weighted silence, her shoulders heavy but erect.

"I'm certainly not proud of it, but there it is," she adds, sighing with her arms. "I won't try to make it into something it wasn't."

He turns his face back to the window, hurt clouding his eyes.

"So you just," he pauses, biting his lower lip. "You just took him as a lover? A man you barely knew?"

Her chest caves in at the impact of his implication.

"Not exactly," she clarifies. "I didn't invite him to my room, I'm not even sure how he found it. But once he was there, I didn't make him leave."

She sees his chin quiver. It nearly breaks her.

"And he didn't…"

"No," she insists quietly. "It wasn't like that."

"What was it like, Mary?"

Her limbs go numb, as if doused in cold water, her eyes rounding as she feels completely exposed.

"I'd rather not go into details," she whispers. "Not about something like that."

"No," he nearly laughs, in spite of his eyes being hard. "I mean what was it like to live with that secret pressing on you all these years?"

Her heart constricts yet again, her legs pressing her to flee while her feet remain fixed as granite.

"To look everyone in the eye and not say a word, to send me off to war with no answer, no explanation—"

Her hands begin to shake.

"Was this why you wouldn't accept me?"

Her legs nearly give way, her breath now coming in snatches.

"Partly," she breathes, shutting her eyes to his scrutiny.

"And the rest?"

He is silent until she looks at him again, and for a broken moment, they are the star-crossed lovers standing uncertainly on the grounds, talking around each other on a day that changed everything.

"I think you know," she confesses, pressing back tears with every ounce of strength she can muster. She feels hollow, numb, even listless in spirit, yet she fights back her fears and faces him, needing an answer that only he can give her.

"Would it have mattered, Matthew?"

It is now his turn to look shocked, and he shakes his head with an odd expression, clearly uncertain of what she is asking.

"If I had told you then," she expounds. "About Kemal Pamuk, about how he really died, would it have changed anything between us?" Her breath catches painfully, and she clears her throat. "Would you honored your proposal to me and stayed, even knowing what you know now?"

Eyes lock, expressions solidify, each waiting for the other to give an indication of what should be said.

"I don't know, Mary," he finally admits, and she feels something crack open inside of her. "I honestly don't know what I would have done."

She stands on faulty legs, fingers frigid, heart bruised but beating. At least now she knows. At least now, she has faced him.

At least now, she has answers.

"I'll leave you alone," she voices, moving away from him, pausing to listen for any sounds of rebuttal.

There are none. Only a silence more gut-wrenching than she has ever known. And with that, she walks away, not pausing to look back at the man she has lost again.


End file.
